Send in the Clowns
by FaithinBones
Summary: Booth's latest encounter with a clown forces him to seek help for his phobia.


This takes place after "The Pinocchio in the Planter".

I had a few requests to resolve the whole 'why does Booth hate clowns' thing. I guess HH is never going to tell us. This is my version.

Warning: this story contains child endangerment and abuse. If you are squeamish about such things, please do not read this story.

I don't own Bones.

Oooooooooooooo

Entering Booth's office, Sweets noticed the head of Major Crimes sitting behind his desk, his head propped on his left hand, writing in a folder. Closing the office door behind him, he walked over to the desk and sat on the chair across from the busy agent. Frowning, Sweets inquired, "Want to talk about the clown?"

Not looking up, Booth continued to write.

Clearing his throat, Sweets pushed on, "You know, I'm here for you if you want to talk about it."

Sighing, Booth looked up and grimaced, "I don't need to talk about it."

Crossing his legs the young psychologist frowned, "Look I know you've been having a rough couple of years, okay? Major surgery, your partnership with Dr. Brennan broken for awhile, Afghanistan and another broken relationship. It's a lot to deal with. Then you throw in having to confront a clown when you're afraid of them, it's just been bad for you lately."

Exasperated, Booth threw his pen down on his desk and leaned forward, "Don't say it like that, another broken relationship, you make it sound like I've never had a successful relationship in my life and for your information I am not afraid of clowns. I just don't like them."

Pursing his lips, Sweets asked, "I was there Booth, I saw how you reacted when the clown walked into the building. You were afraid. Am I wrong?"

Pointing at the door, Booth ordered his young friend, "Get the hell out and don't let the door hit you on your ass on the way out."

Standing, Sweets calmly replied, "I'll be in my office until 5 this evening."

Watching Sweets leave, Booth exhaled deeply. Finally picking up his pen, he continued to fill out his report.

Ooooooooooooooooooo

Entering Sweets' office, Booth sat down on the couch facing Sweet's back wall and pulled out his dice. Rubbing them in his hand, he watched Sweets stand up and move to the couch facing him. Moving the dice between his hands he studied the many sides of the dice and refused to look at Sweets.

Sweets, understanding that Booth was going to take his time, waited quietly.

After ten minutes of silence, Booth placed his dice back into his pocket and sat back placing his right ankle on his left knee. Clearing his throat, he studied his finger nails. "I need to talk to you. It's got nothing to do with my job or Hannah or Bones or . . . I . . . uh, I'm afraid of clowns. It's getting worse as I get older. I mean, I know what caused it and . . . and still, it's getting worse."

Carefully, Sweets clasped his hands together and solemnly asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Stealing a peek at Sweet's face, Booth returned to inspecting his fingernails, "Yeah. I, uh, Bones knows and so do Pops and my Mom and Dad; but, no one else. Not even my brother. Jared is too young to remember thank God."

Curious, Sweets remained quiet and nodded his head. He knew it would be all too easy to spook the older man and he did want to help him if he could.

Stealing another peek at Sweets, Booth pulled his lighter out of his pocket and flipped the lid open. Studying the little wheel inside he licked his lips, "When I was about nine years old and Jared was four, our father remembered that he was a father one weekend and decided to take us to a carnival. We were there for awhile and it was going okay until he got bored. He handed me some money and left me and Jared at some games. He just left. . . ."

Frowning, Sweets carefully asked his question, "He left you at the carnival by yourselves?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Booth moved his index finger delicately over the wheel in his lighter and moved it back and forth, "I don't know if he left the carnival. He left us alone at the games though."

Glancing up at Sweets' carefully neutral face, Booth swallowed and moved the lighter closer to his eyes and looked more intently at the wheel inside the lighter, "So anyway, it was getting dark and Jared needed to use the bathroom. I needed to find him a bathroom and I asked an adult and he pointed to some port-a-john behind the games. I took Jared and I helped him, you know with his pants and stuff."

Understanding that Booth could bolt at any time, Sweets remained silent and tried not to move.

Closing the lid on his lighter, Booth placed it in his pocket and took out some coins. Placing them in his hand, he looked closely at each coin. "Jared was thirsty so we started to walk around the games to some concession stands when a guy came up to us and grabbed Jared."

Breathing hard, Booth waited for a few minutes, "He grabbed Jared and I made a grab for him and he threw a fist at me and . . ." Pulling on his nose, he breathed deeply, "He knocked me out and when I came to we were in a shed. He uh. . . the guy, he had tied my hands together with a tie and he had stuffed a handkerchief in my mouth. He . . . he . . . uh. ." Wiping his hand across his eyes, he licked his lips and stopped, "Jared was only four for God's sake and that guy he just. . . ."

Stopping, Booth took a ragged breath, "He . . . Jared was crying and calling my name and I couldn't help him. I tried to scream but the rag was in my mouth and Jared started screaming and . . ." Stopping, Booth abruptly stood up. Walking over to the window, Booth moved the blind and stared out at the street below.

Carefully, Sweets shifted in his seat to watch Booth trying to regain control of his emotions. Swallowing, Sweets moved his eyes to his office door and waited.

After several minutes, Booth swallowed and continued, "Someone heard the noise and opened the door. He saw what was going on and he rushed the guy that had Jared and pulled my brother from him. Some other guy came into the shed and he started to beat the guy who. . . who. . . uh, who hurt Jared. God, I thought he'd never quit beating him. Finally he stopped and he came and picked me up and untied me and those guys carried us both to the carnival office. They called the police and an ambulance for Jared."

Staring at the cars and trucks moving up and down the street, Booth took a ragged breath and continued, "They took us to the hospital and Jared had to have surgery. Mom and Dad showed up just before they took him in to fix him and . . . and my Dad, that sorry son of a bitch blamed me. He told the cops that I'd wandered away from him with my little brother and he's spent the whole evening looking for me. Of course, they believed him. I was nine for God's sake. Nine year old's do shit like that all of the time so the police didn't question him further."

Finally feeling that the time was right, Sweets asked, "Jared had to have surgery. He doesn't remember what happened?"

Shaking his head, Booth walked back over to the couch and sat down, "Nah, he was just four. He had nightmares for years and he's scared shitless of clowns. His fear used to drive my Dad insane. It was like the only time he felt guilty was when Jared cried when he saw clowns . . . You know, I was wary of clowns for a long time and I didn't trust them at all but, as I got older I started to fear them. It's gotten worse over the last couple of years. I don't know why; but, it has. Now I see a clown and I . . . anyway, I'm afraid of clowns. Besides Bones you're the only one that knows about my fear. Well, I take that back, Pops knows, Jared knows and I'm pretty damn sure the entire squint squad knows. Cam does for sure." Laughing bitterly, Booth shook his head, "Hell, I guess everyone knows."

Nodding his head, Sweets stared kindly at Booth, "The man that hurt Jared, he was dressed as a clown?"

Crossing his arms, Booth stared over Sweets shoulder, "Yeah."

Curious, the psychologist asked, "What happened to him?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Booth snarled, "How the hell do I know, I was nine for God's sake. No one tells nine year old's shit."

Rubbing his hands on his knees, Sweets asked, "Didn't you ever try to find out?"

Shaking his head, Booth turned his eyes upon the younger man, "No."

Forcing the issue, Sweets asked, "Why not?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Booth answered honestly, "I don't know."

Sighing, Sweets nodded his head, "Okay, uh, okay, still, don't you think it would help you if you knew? Maybe part of your fear is because you think of that clown as still being out there. A dangerous man who attacks children and you don't know if he's still out there doing to other kids what he did to you and Jared."

Shaking his head, Booth frowned, "To Jared, not to me."

Shrugging his shoulders, Sweets responded, "He kidnapped you, hit you, knocked you out, raped your little brother in front of you . . . yes, to you too."

Staring at Sweets intently, Booth finally sighed, "Okay." Standing, he walked around the couch, "Maybe I'll look into it."

Standing, Sweets responded, "If you need to talk to me about this again, come and do it, Booth. I'm here any time."

Waving his hand, Booth left the office, closing the door behind him.

Sitting down, Sweets shook his head.

Oooooooooooooooooooo

That evening, Booth was sitting on his couch, his television on and his remote in his hand. Brennan had come over to finish up some paper work and for them to spend some time together. They were trying to work their way through a few things and they'd been spending the last few evenings together talking and watching television together. Sitting on the couch next to him, she kept glancing at him in concern. Finally aware that Booth's mind was elsewhere, she leaned over and took the remote from his hand. Moving closer, she placed her arm around him and asked, "Booth, what's wrong?"

Swallowing, Booth turned and stared at his partner, "Bones, I . . . You know about what happened when I was a kid . . . why I'm afraid of clowns?"

Nodding her head, Brennan answered, "Yes."

Placing his right hand over his eyes, Booth responded emotionally, "I did some research this afternoon . . . . The clown, the guy that hurt Jared. . ." Throwing his arms around Brennan, Booth breathed out, "He's dead. That sorry son-of-a-bitch is dead."

Holding him tightly, Brennan heard him weep in relief, "That's good, Booth. I'm glad. That's a good thing."

Oooooooooooooooooooo

So what do you think of my story? Any good?


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